


Picture Perfect

by I_like_your_genetalia



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cheating, Crushes, F/M, Fake Dating, Happy Ending, M/M, Napollya - Freeform, University, a tiny bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 08:39:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4822514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_like_your_genetalia/pseuds/I_like_your_genetalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon Solo is used to getting what and who he wants. What happens when the person he wants the most belongs to someone else?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picture Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a fic, that myself and one of my friends co wrote (well it was mostly my friend), and another one edited. We really hope you enjoy, and would love your feedback. Just so you know, the cheating tag is a little deceiving, it isn't really cheating.

Napoleon leaned against the rail at the top of the stairs. He took a slow drag from his cigarette as he assessed his little sister.  
“You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Gaby. Dad’s gonna have a right fit when he finds out.”

The corner of her mouth twitched up as she replied flippantly, “Well duh, that’s the point. Now how do I look? Suitably inappropriate?”  
Napoleon rolled his eyes. Gaby’s skin tight black dress barely made it to her thighs. Fishnet tights stretched across her legs like the bars of a cage, holding her together. She was nothing if not obvious.

“Like a common whore.” he replied, tone flat.

Her smile stretched further up her cheeks. “Perfect.”

Napoleon snorted as she bounded down the stairs. She yelled to their father as she turned the corner towards the front door. “I’M GOING OUT DAD.”  
Napoleon heard their father swear, heard the chair grind back as his father got to his feet to go stop Gaby. He turned, retreating to his room before his father came after him for letting Gaby go. He knew that she wasn’t the only one who would get in trouble for this.

He sauntered past his bed and to the window, watching Gaby striding over to the tall blond man leaning against a dusty black impala. She kissed his cheek, and Napoleon could see him flinch slightly at the touch. Even from where he stood, he could tell who it was.

After all, he went to the same university as Napoleon, although he studied chemistry as opposed to art. He had quite the reputation as being cold, untouchable. Illya Kuryakin. Physically perfect; blond hair, blue eyes that put the sky to shame, and a muscular build that would make him the ideal male model. It was not that that their father would have a problem with. Their father would not object to the four years that separated Illya and Gaby either; she had done worse before. At least Illya was younger than Napoleon, who was five years Gaby’s senior. No, the real reason why their father would detest Gaby’s latest interest was because he was Russian.

Their father was military, and he had been so for a very long time. Long enough to have experienced the height of the cold war. When he was young, barely older than Napoleon, he had fought in Vietnam. Too many friends he lost at the hands of Russians, and for that he bore a permanent grudge, an underlying hatred. One that he would no doubt take out on Illya.

*****

Napoleon was so engrossed in painting a picture of himself that he hadn’t noticed that outside the sun had set and that the only natural light entering his room was from the moon. He had been struggling over the contouring of his jaw, stuck in his vanity, that it was only when he heard a car grinding to a halt outside his house that he became aware of just how much time he had wasted. He stepped back, utterly discontent with his work. He was sure he looked much better in real life. He would just have to try again later. He turned his attention to the window.

It was definitely Gaby arriving home.

Napoleon ran down the stairs as quietly as he could, trying not to alert his father to the fact that Gaby had arrived home with a Russian in tow.

He reached the door without seeing or hearing his father and took it as a good sign, although somewhat suspicious. He opened it to find Gaby searching through her purse for her keys. Illya was standing behind her with his hands in his pockets.

Gaby looked up and frowned. “What are you doing down here, Leo?”

He pulled his usual nonchalant smile, but his eyes flared slightly at the use of his childhood nickname. She had obviously been hoping that their father would open the door. She was very determined to piss him off. He needed to get it through his head that there was no way he could control her.

“I just thought,” he said, looking past Gaby to Illya, “I should come introduce myself to your new boyfriend.”

The blood rushed up to Illya’s face and tinged his skin an outrageous shade of red. Napoleon really had to credit his sister’s taste.

He reached out a hand, which Illya took after extracting his hand from his pocket, slightly thrown off by the whole affair.

“I’m Napoleon -not Leo.” he said, “I’ve seen you around campus before. Not gonna lie, my ex was slightly in love with you.”  
Illya’s skin turned a darker red and he cleared his throat, “Ah, yes, uh, Illya.”

Gaby looked between the two of them, as if she were trying to figure something out. Napoleon dropped Illya’s hand and leaned back against the doorframe.  
“Would you like to come in?” she asked finally.

Illya looked uncomfortable, while Napoleon snorted. Illya frowned.  
“Is invite joke?” He asked Napoleon.

Napoleon grinned, “Oh no, feel free to come in. Just do so at your own peril.”  
Looking mildly alarmed, Illya stepped back. “Maybe on different day. Will see you tomorrow, Gaby?”

Gaby glared at Napoleon for scaring Illya off, before turning to Illya and nodding.  
“Tomorrow it is.”

******

It took an entire 2 weeks to get Illya to come inside the house. Napoleon was upstairs in his room, when he heard the front door close and soft rumbling of voices. From the sound of things they were heading into Gaby's bedroom.

"I don't like this." Illya's voice managed to carry from the bottom of the stairs and to Napoleon's room.

"Ugh, don't be a baby. No one is home, don't worry." Gaby replied.

So much for a nice long session with his hand, Napoleon thought.

"Go make yourself comfortable in my room, the toilet is a couple of doors down, on the opposite side." The pair were standing just outside his door, he heard a small noise of agreement from Illya, who seemed to prefer not to talk.

It was about an hour later when he heard the engine of a car start, he heard it pull of the drive and down the road.

"Finally alone." Napoleon muttered.

He was already half naked, a pair of black sweats hung low on his hips, while his top half was absent of any clothing. He lay back on the bed, eyes fluttering shut. Napoleon let one hand trail down his chest, towards his hardening erection. God, it had been way too long since he had done this. He roughly palmed his dick through the cotton material. Napoleon wasn't all that surprised when his mind conjured the image of a naked Illya at the end of his bed, lustfully staring at the now very prominent tent in his pants. He could all but feel the solid weight of the Russian on top of him, planting rough bites and sloppy kisses down his neck all and across his chest. The blond making his way to Napoleon's dick, fingers carefully pulling it free from the sweat pants. Illya holding it tightly before licking the head.

Napoleon's hand slipped into his pants, thumb swiping the head of his cock as he imagined Illya's tongue would, he dragged his hand down, pumping the shaft slowly. He wanted this to last, well, longer than 5 minutes.

Illya did actually enjoy Gaby's company, preferably when she wasn't wearing dresses that barely covered her butt. "So I need to pop out and fetch a few things, are you okay staying here?"

"What about you father?"

"He won't be home till at least 10, Napoleon might get home while I am gone"

With that said, Gaby pressed a kiss to Illya's cheek, before grabbing her bag and leaving the room, heading downstairs.

It was 15 minutes after Gaby had left that Illya realised he needed to go to the toilet. Which door had Gaby said, 2 down or 1 down? He took at a wild guess, both doors looked identical. He pushed the first one open, it clearly wasn't a bathroom. In front of him was a huge window, looking out onto an enclosed garden. In front of it was a variety of canvas and easels, though he couldn’t see what was being painted. Illya didn't know what possessed him to step into the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. He was about to step further into the room when he heard the sharp intake of air, then his name being moaned.

"Oh god, Illya" Napoleon barely noticed the words leave his lips, like how he didn't noticed the extra person in the room.

"Oh" Illya gasps, staring at the sight in front of him. A flushed Napoleon laid out on the bed, hand fisting his dick, slowing down and speeding up at random intervals. His hips lifting of the bed with every thrust, gaping out "oh gods" and "fuck" and Illya's name as he stroked himself. Illya couldn’t deny the attraction he felt towards the dark haired man, even before this moment. But right now he was looking delectable. Illya stepped closer, entranced by Napoleon. It was then that Napoleon decided to open his eyes, they both froze.

"Ummm" is all Napoleon could manage to say, his dick still in his hand.

"Do you want some help with that?" Illya's voice was not helping the situation. If anything his dick got harder, Napoleon's mind supplying the sound of Illya saying his name while pounding into him.

"Errrrrr" Illya stepped closer, eyes flickering between Napoleon's face and his dick.

"I mean okay." That was not the smoothest response. But Napoleon couldn't care less, Illya basically clambered onto the bed, settling between Napoleon's spread legs. The blonde reached up, gently prying away Napoleon's hand, replacing it with his own. Taking several tentative strokes, making sure Napoleon wasn't going to kill him before lowering his head and sucking the twitching cock into his mouth.

Illya pulled off, licking some precum off the tip, circling the head with his tongue, pressing it in and out of the slit. Napoleon's hand made its way to Illya's cropped hair, tugging downwards trying to get Illya to stop teasing.

"Just fucking suck it." Napoleon’s words came out less forceful than he wanted, Illya chuckled at him, before opening his mouth and guiding it back into the wet heat. "Fuck yes" Napoleon started to rock into Illya's mouth, hands pushing Illya’s head to take his cock deeper. He was so close, just a couple more thrusts and he would be there. Illya slid the dick out of his mouth with a wet pop, still stroking the dick roughly.

"Yes, Illya, so close." Napoleon's moans made Illya speed up, pumping the dick faster, his other hand coming up and playing with his balls. Illya looked up, wanting to see Napoleon's face as he unraveled him, bringing him closer and closer to his orgasm. " Приходите на ковбоя, come on my face"

Napoleon couldn't have stopped even if he wanted to, the blue eyes staring up at him, those plump lips forming words in russian, that velvet voice. All of it pushed him over the edge, releasing a hot load onto the russians face. Relaxed and sated, Napoleon settled back into the bed, dragging Illya up, draping a muscled arm around his waist. Napoleon leaned over, grabbing a wipe to clean the mess he'd made.

After all evidence of their activities had been cleared up, Napoleon allowed himself to huddle closer the Illya's clothed body.

"Thank you," Napoleon whispered, "That was... nice."

Illya's grip tightened "You're welcome, cowboy."

The two men laid on the bed for a while, enjoying each other's warmth. But like usual, Napoleon had to ruin the moment.

"I think Gaby might be getting home soon, you might want to head back to her room" Napoleon couldn't help the pain that stabbed through him, at the thought that Illya wasn't really his.

Since Gaby and Illya had started going out, they often talked while waiting for her to finish getting ready or waiting for her to get home. Despite the russians cold exterior he was surprisingly human. Napoleon greatest achievement was getting him to laugh, he couldn't help be captivated by the smile and the twinkling blue eyes that lingered after the laughing had ended.

Illya's voice dragged him back to the present, "You are right." Illya rolled away from Napoleon, adjusting his clothing. The taller man bent over, pressing a kiss to Napoleon's forehead, letting his lips trail down to Napoleon's. "See you around, cowboy." Illya turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

*****

Napoleon didn't see Illya for a while, he heard him though, talking with Gaby, laughing with her. Everytime he heard them, something bitter and hot twisted through him. He couldn't stop the images of Illya laid out naked on Gaby's bed, Gaby's, not his, with Gaby's hands on the skin that he so desperately wanted to touch. He took the feeling and painted. The perfectly broad shoulders, the thick muscular thighs, the giant hands that could leave bruises. Napoleon was lost in the thought of Illya’s hands; of what they felt like, what they could do. Where they’d been. Where Napoleon wanted them to go. He had never been good with words, always failing miserably to express what he felt, but on canvas he could release all his passion, all his unspoken desires. All the things he couldn’t bring himself to say aloud.

It dripped down the canvas, in the colour of flesh, his feelings carefully carved into the shadows defining muscles.

It was late when he stopped, his breath heavy, his body and clothes covered in paint. He stripped off his now dirty clothes, stepping into the bathroom and switching on the shower. In He almost didn't hear the knock, it was timid. Gaby probably forgot her keys and thought their father was home. Sighing Napoleon wrapped a towel around his waist and headed downstairs. In all honesty, he was not expecting the man of his fantasies to be standing on the other side, but considering the fact he was in a relationship with his sister, it shouldn't have been all that surprising.

"Is Gaby home?" Illya rubbed the back of his neck nervously. They hadn’t really talked since the night that Illya had stumbled into his room by accident. Napoleon had been trying his best to avoid Illya, retreating to the comfort of his room every time he heard Gaby bring him home.  
  
"No she isn't, but you can come in and wait for her. She should be back soon." He stepped away from the door to let Illya through. Despite there being enough room to pass by without touching, Illya managed to brush Napoleon's half naked body. Napoleon wanted to lean forward, letting their bodies linger. But the moment was gone, closing down on Napoleon with the reminder that this was his sister’s boyfriend. He shut the door behind him.

"You can wait in her room if you want? I need to go have a shower, so make yourself comfortable." With that said, Napoleon turned and went back up to his bathroom. The steam had built up in the room. Dropping his towel, he stepped under the hot spray, flicking his wet hair of his face.

"You know you should really shut the door when you shower." Illya said from the entrance of bathroom. Napoleon flinched in surprise.

"You need to stop walking in on me."

"And miss out on such a pretty view?" Illya smirked, "I couldn't deprive myself of that."

"No one is home, you can join me if you want?" What was Napoleon doing? This was Gaby's boyfriend, a boy who was in a steady relationship with his sister. Now he was inviting him to join him in the shower. What the fuck was wrong with him? Despite the guilt, he couldn't regret his decision when Illya was suddenly pressed up behind him. Inches of solid muscle, soft skin, those hands, touching him. Illya's fingers skimmed down Napoleon's sides, grabbing onto the other man's hips tightly. He let his face fall into the junction between Napoleon's neck and shoulder.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you, you know? I don't like you ignoring me." Illya's words were whispered into wet skin.

"I'm sorry, I jus-" Napoleon’s excuse caught in his throat as Illya pressed a firm kiss into the base of Napoleon’s neck. Napoleon bit back a moan, catching it with his teeth before it slipped between his lips. Illya grinned at the sounds Napoleon was having trouble holding back, even though they had barely even started. Illya peppered kisses up Napoleon's neck and then on to his jaw. Illya let his hands wander across the shorter man's torso, drifting lower. Then reaching out, he gently wrapped his hand round Napoleon's half hard member, pumping steadily.

"No!" Napoleon pushed himself away from the warm body behind him. Illya stepped back, hands dropping to his sides.

"Umm I'm sorry, I thought it was okay?" Illya couldn't get a full sentence out. He had messed up this time, apparently he had misinterpreted the entire situation.

"Illya, look at me. I still want to carry on, I just want to return the favour. You know, from the other day?"

Oh. Illya nodded, still cautious to what was happening. Napoleon dropped to the floor, the tiles were going to wreck his knees. Still, he couldn't bring himself to care. Illya's dick had perked up, though still not entirely hard. Napoleon grabbed it with one hand, stroking up and down as he guided it towards his mouth. Only sucking the head in to start, he hollowed his cheeks and bobbed his head. Finding a rhythm that had Illya tugging harshly on his hair. His free hand curled around the back of Illya’s thigh, steadying himself. He continued bobbing, his jaw had started to ache. Illya wasn't exactly small. He pulled off, licking the shaft, from base to tip. Napoleon swiped his tongue across the head, still stroking up and down at regular intervals.

He looked up at Illya’s face as he worked with his tongue. Illya’s head was tilted back, lips parted. His skin was flushed. The low moan creeping out of Illya’s throat as Napoleon took his head back into his mouth was almost enough to tip Napoleon over the edge himself. Napoleon swallowed around Illya's cock, feeling the fingers in his hair tighten, and the member twitch as it released a load in Napoleon's mouth. Illya rolled his hips forward, moaning out “ковбой.” Napoleon reached down and started stroking his neglected erection, reaching his own orgasm only a few pumps later.

He felt Illya lift him from on his knees, picking him up so that they were face to face.

"Wrap your legs around my waist." Illya said, before grabbing Napoleon's thighs and hitching him up. Napoleon relaxed into Illya, his arms tightening around the other man’s neck. Illya stepped out of the bathroom and headed towards the bed. He carefully lay Napoleon on the mattress, before lying down next to him. Napoleon almost started purring when he felt hands drawing patterns onto his skin. He instead hummed contentedly, dragging Illya closer.

His eyes closed, the feeling of Illya's presence calming. Napoleon fell asleep with the smell of Illya surrounding him and soft puffs of air at the back of his neck.

******  
Illya woke up to find an arm wrapped tightly around his stomach, muscles tensed protectively. He could feel Napoleon’s chest rise and fall against his back as he breathed steadily. They had traded positions while they slept, turning over so that Napoleon was now curled around him. "Do you know that you snore?" Illya hadn't noticed Napoleon waking up.

"Not many stay long enough to hear it." was Illya's only response.  
  
"Well that is honestly a pity, because they miss out on a very adorable view." Napoleon had now propped himself up on one arm while Illya adjusted so he was lying on his back.

"I am not adorable." he huffed, his bottom lip sticking out in a pout.

"Mmm, sure, whatever you say." Napoleon didn't give the russian time to reply by placing a kiss to the still pouting lips. He only meant for it to be a peck, but Illya responded, opening his mouth to let Napoleon in. He couldn't turn down such an invitation. Licking his way inside Illya's mouth, he groaned at the fact that that he got to wake up to this. Not Gaby, but him. Illya had chosen to stay.

Illya’s fingertips slid into his hair, thumb pushing into his jaw, tilting Napoleon’s head towards him as he shifted his weight until he was hovering above him. He pulled back slightly, looking at Napoleon’s red lips, then up into his eyes.

“I really,” he whispered, pausing to press a kiss against Napoleon’s lips, “should go.” He pushed up to meet Napoleon’s lips again, pulling on his lower lip gently with his teeth. “I just really don’t want to.”

"Stay." Maybe it was a bad idea, suggesting they continue, whatever this is. But the thought of not having Illya in any way, was suffocating. Napoleon didn't know when his addiction to this gorgeous creature started, but he knew he never wanted to give it up.

"I think I might." Illya replied. Napoleon straddled Illya, their crotches aligned, he was about to lean down and attach his lips to Illya's when the front door slammed shut. They jumped apart, the moment ruined by the sudden interruption.

"It’s probably Gaby, but I should go check." Napoleon slid out of bed first, finding a pair of not too dirty pants and a clean t-shirt. Illya watched Napoleon get changed, admiring the other’s body, before sighing and heading to the bathroom to find his his own clothes.

When Illya was fully dressed, he went to find where the two siblings had gone, unable to hear voices. He needed to talk to Gaby, there was something important they needed to discuss.

Illya’s eyes did not leave his feet as he jogged down the stairs, and he didn’t realise there was a figure at the bottom blocking his path until he had nearly crashed into them. He looked up, expecting Napoleon, but instead found himself face to face with a much older man. His jaw was clenched and his grey eyes were glazed over as if they had been dipped in zinc.

“What are you doing here?” the man said curtly, face set like stone.

“Oh, um,” Illya couldn’t stop his stutter, this man made him nervous, “I came to see, uh, Gaby.”

As Illya spoke the man took a step back, facing darkening a few shades, and lips curling back into a snarl.

“Russian filth. Get out of my house.” he said, “And you’re not to see my daughter again!”

Illya stepped back in shock. Of all the things he had expected the man to say, that had not been one. The loathfulness that had spilt out of his mouth as he spoke left Illya half surprised that the man had not spat in his face, or sent a fist in his direction.

Illya was still formulating a reply when he heard a quiet cough from behind the man. Gaby.

“Dad, piss off.”

The man’s eyes narrowed and he turned to face his daughter instead. “I will not have that kind of blatant disrespect in my house, young lady.”  
Gaby, unlike Illya, did not even blink at her father’s icy tone. “Respect my guests and I will respect you.” She shifted her eyes from her father to Illya, “Go wait in my room, I’ll be right up.”  
Illya nodded and spun round. This was not a fight he wanted to get in the middle of.

As he ran back up the stairs, he expected to hear shouting, or something. But both voices were cold and calm.  
He did exactly what Gaby told him too, making his way to her room. Once entering he settled on her bed, patiently waiting for his fake girlfriend to return. Illya hadn't been waiting long, at least he didn't think so. But his thoughts had been on Napoleon, he didn't want to stop the feeling of excitement that being with the irritatingly wonderful man caused. Any spark he and

Gaby had once had, was snuffed out the moment he first met Napoleon.

"Did you see how mad he was!? It was the perfect reaction!" Illya remembered Gaby saying that them 'dating' would piss of her dad. He however didn't expect the anger that had oozed from the older man, that complete and utter hatred.

"Gaby, calm down, we need to talk. I have to ask you something" Illya fidgeted uncomfortably, he wasn't wasn't a huge fan of the whole talking thing. "Are we fake dating exclusively?" Illya took in a deep breath, "or can we, are we allowed to see other people?"

Gaby looked surprised but shook the look off. "Oh, yeah, of course, feel free to date other people." Gaby grinned, "So who's the lucky girl? Wait let me guess, is it the one who sits behind you in chemistry, and won't stop staring?"

Illya shook his head, "It's not a girl."

"Oh." Gaby gasped, "Oh, it's a boy" There was a moment a tension filled silence. "So, what is he like?" asked Gaby.  
"He's perfect, and charming, he is an art student I think and his smile is stunning, and when he laughs..." Illya can't help the twitch of his lips at his memories of Napoleon. "He listens when I talk, but he understands my need to not talk all the time, and he is so unbelievably out of my league."

"Sounds like a good old crush you have there." Gaby giggled "Can I meet him?"

Illya flushed, "Yeah...maybe." He will tell her it's Napoleon, just not yet.

*******

Napoleon’s hands were covered in paint again. The once blank canvas, now holding a rather detailed painting of Illya's face. He had managed to capture the intensity of Illya’s blue eyes, the icy highlights that spiraled out from his pupils, cut off by the black rings that circled his irises; that perfectly structured face, the sharp cheekbones and jawline, the ridiculously straight nose, those downright kissable lips. It was how he remembered Illya looking that first night he had come into Napoleon’s room. He tried to capture the way his mouth had curled up in satisfaction, parted slightly like he was blowing out smoke.

That night he had breathed in Illya as if he were drowning. He was an addict, drunk on the taste of his lips. Every heart beat resonated the craving for Illya’s hands on him; he was always seeking his next high. Napoleon had yet to paint the final touch, the splattering of come, that he so clearly remembered. He wanted everyone to know that Illya was his, marked forever, the moment sealed in acrylic. He knew he was selfish. That these moments should have belonged to Gaby, and Gaby alone. But he clutched them tightly, these moments that he had stolen. The guilt weighed down on him. He needed to tell her what a terrible brother he is, what a horrible human being he is.

His grip on the paintbrush tightened, so much so that he was afraid it might snap. He tried to hate what he had created. What right did he have to that? Illya was not his, not in any way. Perhaps they could have been friends, but obviously not now. And intimately… intimately Illya was Gaby’s. Napoleon was a thief in every sense of the word. He had stolen Illya, stolen an exasperatingly intimate moment from him. More than one moment. He had no right to that. And now... now he was trying to capture that moment. He was trying to steal Illya forever. He was trying to make his stolen moment permanent. He had no right to that. He had never had any right. What he was doing, to Gaby, what he had stolen from her… he hated himself for that. And his stolen moment, Illya’s eyes staring up at him full of lust, he hated himself for that. It should not have been his.

God, how he wanted to hate the moment. He needed to despise it, to cast it away, for his sake and Gaby’s, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to hate the way that Illya had looked at him. He couldn’t bring himself to hate the way that Illya’s tongue had danced across his body, or the way that his lips had so perfectly fitted with his own. He wanted to hate Illya for betraying his sister. He was so far from hating Illya. Everytime he saw him, even from a distance, this warmth rose up in him. Everytime that they had met up for coffee at the uni cafe, something in his gut started doing flips, and twirls, like he was standing on the edge of a cliff. Except he wasn’t.

At some point he had slipped and fallen off the edge and now there was no hope; he was too far gone. He wanted to hate Illya for the way he made him feel. He wanted to hate his painting that so perfectly captured Illya’s desire. But he couldn’t hate Illya, even if he tried. He could only hate himself.

Gaby would hate him too. He knew that. The fact that he had tried to steal any guy from him would cause that, but Illya, Illya wasn’t just any guy. He just hoped that if he came clean now,

Gaby would give Illya another chance, and they could be happy. And Napoleon could just carry on with his stolen moment. He reached out to touch the painting, wishing it was the real thing; that he could say goodbye, even though he didn't deserve that. Instead he immersed himself in his art, painting each memory, so as to keep them forever.

Gaby had noticed something strange. She had a suspicion of who Illya had a crush on, though she didn't want to jump to conclusions. However, it was only proving her point when Napoleon managed to avoid both her and Illya. Her brother was moping around like a lost puppy. The majority of his day was spent up in his room painting, ut he wouldn't show anyone the large canvases that lay facing the wall.

She had noticed Illya's and Napoleon's connection, their chemistry the first time they met. Over the few months Illya and Gaby had been fake dating, Napoleon had been on more dates with

Illya than she had. She wasn't jealous, not in the slightest. What she did want was everyone to pull themselves together and sort out whatever issue they had with each other.

Napoleon hadn't heard anyone come in, but he had been lost in his painting for hours, so it didn't surprise him too much. But the two people sitting on the couch laughing had heard him come down, it was too late for a quick disappearance.

"Heya Leo" Gaby said, smiling "Finally come down to join the living?"

Actually he needed something to eat, but the assortment of food on the table in front of the couple was looking like an easier option than having to cook.

"Err yeah, I guess" Napoleon was avoiding any sort of eye contact with Illya who had gone silent the moment he had walked in the room.

"Why don't you come join us? We were planning on watching a movie." The temptation was great, to sit in a dark room, where he could watch Illya without anyone noticing. But then he would have to see Gaby and Illya together; one of Illya's muscled arms lazily stretched across the back of the couch, Gaby’s hand drawing pretty patterns on Illya's leg. He didn’t want to see them whispering secrets and love confessions into each other's ears. He didn't think he could deal with that.

"No thanks, wouldn't want to intrude on your date night. I’ll be upstairs." He hadn't meant to sound so bitter, but it had just come out. He was starting to sound like his father.

******

Napoleon left his door open. He didn't know why he was torturing himself. A part of him was still hoping that Illya would come after him, choose him over his sister. It was stupid, and ugly, and unfair of him to hope that. He shouldn't wish for his sister's heart to be broken, just so his was not. But when he heard feet pattering up the stairs behind him, this bitter hope flared up in him. He burned for it to be Illya who had run after him.

Even before the timid knock on the door he knew is wasn't.

"Leo? Can I come in?" he could practically hear Gaby's frown, "We need to talk."

Napoleon didn't want to see her. Not that any of this was her fault, he just couldn't bring himself to face her. But he needed to come clean with what he'd done. He threw an old sheet over his painting of Illya. She didn't need to know that much.

He opened the door with a frown, body placed between her and his room. "What?"

Gaby pushed past him glaring. Her eyes flickered briefly to the easel that had a sheet draped over it as if it were a bird cage, hiding something alive and violent. She squashed her urge to ask what it contained, and spun around to confront Napoleon, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

“That was incredibly rude.” she said, focusing on keeping her lips from curling up, “Why are you being such an ass to Illya?”

Napoleon couldn’t meet her eyes. “I wasn’t-”

“Don’t try to deny it. Illya is an amazing guy, if you bothered to investigate.” As she spoke she saw a flash of emotion on Napoleon’s face. Her plan was working. Just keep pushing. “And you just completely wrote him off.”

“He’s smart...” she said, pausing just long enough for Napoleon to mumble something under his breath that she couldn’t make out.

“He’s fit…” she continued. This time, Napoleon spoke a little louder, loud enough for her to hear.

“I know.” His teeth were gritted and his tone was low, angry.

She smirked. It was working. “And most of all,” she pressed on, licking her lips, “he’s good to me.” The extra pressure put on ‘me’ caused Napoleon to flinch.

“I fucking get it, Gaby, he’s great. The perfect guy.”

“You’re acting like dad, Napoleon.”

Napoleon recoiled at her words, horrified. Then a red, hot anger boiled up in him, swallowing the hurt that Gaby had inflicted. What right did she have to say that? He was nothing, nothing like him. He didn’t hate Illya. He couldn’t hate Illya. How could Gaby think that?

The hurt and anger Gaby had stirred up in him, bubbled to the surface.

"If he is such a perfect boyfriend, then why is spending his nights in my bed?”

Gaby squealed slightly, grinning and trying to keep her feet on the ground. This was the exact reaction Gaby had wanted, well maybe she was hoping for more of a love admission.

“I knew it!” she squeaked, excitement seeping from her voice, “I knew it! This is so exciting!”

Napoleon’s face formed an expression of utter confusion. A crease formed between his eyes, and his jaw slackened so that his lips were parted. Annoyance at her irregular reaction creeped up on him. Why wasn’t she mad about him trying to take away the most amazing guy he could imagine?

“Gaby, what are you doing?” Napoleon said, “I just told you that I, that your boyfriend and I have been-”

“Leo, you idiot, me and Illya were never for real.” Gaby interrupted with a small laugh, “I was just trying to get back at dad for freezing my bank account. God you’re dense sometimes.”

Napoleon blinked, trying to process what his sister had just said. Illya wasn’t hers? So Illya could be his?

“Shit. I really need to talk to him.” he said.

Gaby raised an eyebrow, “And tell him what?”

Napoleon sucked a deep breath through his teeth. “That I’m an idiot and that I’m sorry and that I really, really like him.”

The creak of floorboards from the corridor gave Illya away. He hadn't planned on listening, but Gaby had just disappeared and he thought he might surprise Napoleon. He was craving the hard muscle and sweet kisses. Instead he got caught eavesdropping on a conversation which was probably not for him to hear.

"You can come in Illya, we know you are out there." Gaby's voice called from within the bedroom. He went to step inside, when the sound of keys on the door got him to freeze.

Considering that both Napoleon and Gaby were in the bedroom, there was only one person it could be. Mr Solo. The cold, cruel, very intimidating man who would probably wrench his head off if he found him in the house again.

So as much as he wanted to follow Gaby's voice and tell Napoleon how much he liked him back, where they would have their first non secret kiss, he would also like to be able to experience Napoleon's lips and laughter for longer than a day. Doing the only thing he could, he crept along the corridor, slipping into Gaby's room and out her window. Illya glanced back at the house, praying that Napoleon would understand and forgive him.

Illya should have known he wouldn't be lucky enough to disappear without explanation and be welcomed back with open arms. He knew exactly how it looked, which is why he chose to forgive the bitterly cold looks he got from Gaby, and the even colder shoulder he got from Napoleon. He had tried several times to approach the siblings, trying to explain what had happened, but both of them cut him off before he could get any words out.

"Did you hear about Napoleon's art portfolio?" Illya was waiting in line at the local coffee shop, when the girl in front of him mentioned Napoleon in her conversation. It had been a few weeks since he had climbed out the window, severing himself from them, and they were clearly not ready to talk.  
"I heard the works are going to be displayed at the gallery in the city centre." The other girl said. "I also heard that one of the pieces was asked to be removed from the exhibit."

The first girl giggled, "It must have been bad, naked models were permitted for the portfolio." Illya didn't have the chance to continue listening to the rest of the girls chatter, as he was next in line to order. The girls left while his coffee was being made.

Illya knew he would be at the exhibit, even if it was just for closure. To say a final goodbye even if it couldn't be in person. He easily found out which gallery and when. Napoleon's pieces were the talk of the campus. Not many students were asked to put their works on display, especially at this gallery.

******

Of course it was a black tie event. Illya didn't feel uncomfortable per se. He had quite a few appraising looks from both men and women. But he was only here for Napoleon, and he didn't want the chasm between them to spread any further.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for joining us this evening. Tonight is a very special one, we have a budding artist among us. Napoleon Solo, who has very kindly accepted our request to display his pieces. What he lacks in humility, he certainly makes up for in talent. Now I don’t want to drone on with a speech, I know none of you are here to listen to me talk. So the part you are all patiently waiting for." The woman at the front of the room gestured to the two men standing by a sheet covered wall. Then the sheet came down, the white material fluttering to the floor and puddling under the six paintings that covered the wall.

Napoleon's works were breathtaking, arranged around a central piece. The other five held an assortment of body parts. The broad shoulders and neck of a man, chin up to reveal his prominent Adam’s apple, dusted with a light stubble; a pair of hands that reached out for something beyond the picture; the muscular back and butt, covered by what appeared to be a blanket. The torso and arms of someone relaxing, splayed across a bed. Two legs, starting mid thigh, spread slightly and hooked over the edge of a bed at the knees. Lastly was the centre piece; a mop of golden blonde hair, blue eyes that gazed out of the frame lustfully. Pink tinged lips that were parted slightly, revealing a glimpse of teeth. It took a moment for Illya to realise it was his body, his face so carefully painted, spread across the canvases. The likeness was remarkable, a perfect image of Illya’s love. Illya wanted nothing more than to find

Napoleon and hold him close. Show him how proud he was, how honored he was that Napoleon thought he was precious enough to be captured and preserved.

"This selection of works the artist has named Red Peril." The lady on stage continued, “And now a few words from the artist himself, perhaps on what inspired this collection.”

Napoleon was nervous, this this was possibly the biggest moment of his life. He heard the round of applause that occurred after his introduction. He strolled over to where the owner of the gallery was standing. He smiled, charming the audience before he even spoke.

"I would like to thank each one of you for coming and being here tonight." He cast a glance at those in front of him. "There was one person who inspired me. He was possibly the best and worst thing to ever walk into my life." He took in a deep breath, trying to remove the images of Illya that kept popping into his head, crawling down his throat. “This is for all the brilliant, brutal moments that we spent together. This is for every time he pressed his lips onto mine. This is for every time I made his lips twist up because, god, he was gorgeous when he smiled.

This is for every time I should have told him how I felt, but didn’t. This is for every greedy look I stole of him.” He cleared his throat, trying to get back to his point, “This is for everyone.

For everyone’s passion and unspoken desire.” He looked back out into the crowd, hoping to find Gaby’s eyes, for her support. He found someone’s eyes, but not hers. These were a perfect match to the ones he had spent so long painting. He swallowed, not daring to look away as he issued the final line of his speech.

“This is for everyone’s unrequited love.”

The applause after was demanding of Napoleon. He was trapped.

Napoleon couldn't take his eyes away from the man who had stolen his heart. He wanted to look away, wave at crowd, to carry on pretending that Illya hadn't affect him.

Yet he was frozen in place at the clear look of adoration those eyes held. Then suddenly Illya was there, up in front of everyone, but his focus was on Napoleon. Those large hands came up and gripped Napoleon's face, forcing him to maintain eye contact. Illya's eyes searched his face, as if he was trying to memorise Napoleon, to keep this moment forever. "I love you, Napoleon Solo, I would never ever intentionally hurt you. And if you will let me, I can explain why I didn't come into your room." Napoleon felt tears threatening to make an appearance. His heart doing flips and his whole body going warm at the admission that Illya loved him.

"Okay, yes, I will let you explain"

Illya grinned, a smile that took a moment to fully spread across the taller man's face.

"I am going to kiss you now" was all the russian said before tilting his head to press a soft kiss to Napoleon's mouth. Illya's hands still holding Napoleon's face, mouths moving against each other, without any sign of it going further than the gentle press of lips.

It was a loud wolf whistle that broke the pair apart, Napoleon heavily flushing at the realisation that they weren't alone in the room.

Illya reached and grabbed Napoleon's hand tugging him closer. The flash of a camera went off, but Napoleon didn't notice. He was too buzzed on happiness, on Illya.

*****

When Napoleon arrived home, Illya having walked him to the door, kissing his hand before heading back to his own home. Napoleon couldn't stop smiling, it had been the most perfect evening. Shucking off the suit jacket and tie he went to flop onto the bed. He only just noticed the photo laying on top of the duvet. It was a photo from the exhibit. Gaby must have taken it. It was a photo of Napoleon and Illya just after the kiss; they hadn't yet looked away from each other, hands interlocked.

It was a moment Napoleon was glad to have a reminder of, a memory he would never feel guilty for having.


End file.
